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The Sorcerer King
The Audean myth of the Sorceror King details several travels undertaken by the titular king, coming across various ruined civilizations and learning of their fall. In despair for the future of his own kingdom, he eventually relinquishes power to the leadership of a temple which has outlasted all the realms he visited. The myth is a cornerstone of EAD legitimacy and subsequently one of the most well known. The Myth There once was a king, wise in his rule and blessed with many abilities by Audeos. He was known as the sorcerer-king and he united all lands known to all who lived. From his castle, he oversaw his lands and ruled with respected judgement. Whenever he could he would tour his lands, eager to learn more about what stories it held and lessons it taught. He would explore vast tracts of land, aided by scholars who told him all they could. One day on one of his tours, the king and his companions came across a statue, grand but in decay: even the inscription had worn away. Curious, the king asked his scholars if they know what it was. ‘Certainly, my king!’ one scholar exclaimed, ‘Though the inscription is worn, it is well known to be a monument to the Scholar-king. He was known as the wisest of rulers, who knew a solution to every problem and could solve things a thousand regular sages could not.’ ‘Then why is his monument now crumbling?’ the king asked, to which the scholar replied: ‘Alas his heirs only inherited his land, not his wisdom. Many asked for the aid of his heirs but they could solve nothing, and the kingdom crumbled.’ The king was shaken by this story but decided he better ponder it later. When he returned home, this is what he did. He suddenly realized that some of his children, he had many, possessed traits that were unfit for kingship. He decided he needed to consider his heir carefully to escape the fate of the Scholar-king. Content with this solution, he went on as before. On the following tour, he came upon a castle, grand and commanding, but slowly losing the battle to time. And so, the king asked to whom this castle once belonged. ‘That is something I learned much about’ one of the younger scholars exclaimed, ‘This castle was built by the Conqueror-King. He was renowned for his martial might and his military brilliance. He fought a hundred battles and won just as many. He subdued the many warring clans and brought the people peace and prosperity, things which were little more than memory during his time.’ ‘Then why is his keep left to fight decay on its own?’ the king asked wearily. ‘Alas, the unity the conqueror brought to the land did not exist among his children. When he died peacefully from an old scar, they descended upon each other like starved beasts, eager to claim what their father had gained. And in their vicious struggles, they left peace and prosperity to die and unity to be shattered until they faded to myth once more.’ Upon hearing this the king felt distraught and postponed the rest of the tour. When he got home he pondered on what he heard, could his own children be so selfish that they would tear apart his achievements for personal power? He decided to keep an eye on his children and noticed they often hid in corners, whispering to courtiers, whispering to generals and whispering to each other. His third child, in particular, whispered more than any other, so the king used his powers to learn what he whispered. They spoke with much mystery and often mentioned a plan, how it changed, how it developed and how others could be a part of it. So, the king used his power to search for this plan, he found a document which contained the plan and when he studied it, he was horrified. It was a plan to seize control of the kingdom after his demise, who was to die and what was to be seized. The next day the king revealed the scheme and disowned his third child, though it pained him much as he loved al his children. And even as he spoke the verdict, still his children whispered, still his children schemed. He secluded himself for many days to find a solution. He decided that none of his children would get the crown, instead, he would find someone with qualities as great as his own so good rule would continue. It was a hard choice to make, but it was for the best, he decided. The king decided to hold one last tour before searching for his successor. As he went past his many achievements he regained confidence that his decision was right and that as long as he and his successors chose equally worthy individuals as their successors, his kingdom would persist. One day the king and his companions came across an abandoned city. The skyline was filled with impressive monuments and buildings. The streets were an eerie sight, however: Filled with cages, spikes and various tools of torture and punishment. ‘Who built this strange city?’ the king asked his scholars. ´It was built by the Lawgiver-King, my lord’ said the eldest sage who rarely spoke before, ‘He built this city to be a symbol of law and structure. Many settled here to flee the lawless lands that lay beyond and live in the security of the lawgiver’s judgement. His judgement was widely respected and the people called him the “brilliant judge”. ‘Then why does his city lie deserted, inhabited only by instruments of pain and death?’ the king asked, fearful of the answer he would get. ‘Alas, his judgement did not remain wise. He often judged trials himself, his judgement often being harsh but just and nobody questioned it, for the was the brilliant judge. Over the years, however, his verdict became steadily harsher until they turned into cruelty. Still all trusted his judgement, for he was the brilliant judge. While his own verdicts became harsh he still respected the lighter judgements of other judges. Until one day he decided that his own judgement was the only precedent for the verdicts of the courts. And so, the king’s judgements became standard, for he was the brilliant judge. Things then quickly deteriorated: first the king established punishment quotas for certain districts, as there were always some who defied his wise laws. Then people became obligated to confess their crimes every harvest, those who denied having committed crimes being killed for deceit. And still, the people followed, for he was the brilliant judge. Then one day came his final judgement: everyone was always guilty of countless crimes so everyone was to be perpetually punished. Then started the brief days of terror as soldiers and vigilantes hunted, tortured NS killed and anyone they saw. Some were put on spikes, others were left to starve in tiny cages. When it was over, all were either dead or had taken flight, for even the lawless lands that lay beyond were now better than the lawful city of the brilliant judge.’ The king trembled as he heard the story, could he perhaps be susceptible to the same fate? He searched his mind and realised to his own horror the times he stayed from virtue. He remembered how he had disowned a promising diplomat for holding a different artistic taste than himself, most likely ruining his opportunity for advancement. And he remembered the time when one of his lands was gripped by famine. Deep down he knew the best solution would be to dedicate more land to food to feed the people there, but this would have meant his favourite spice could not be grown, so he did not take the action he should have. As he realised these crimes he became disgusted with himself, because of these times he went astray, but even more so because he only now realised his crimes. Despair filled his mind, even great rulers can fall to vice and ruin their lands. He shouted to the sky in panic as visions overtook him: ‘I want no ruins! Audeos tell me how I can save the peace I have made! Tell me how I make this last!’ His aides watched in panic as their king shouted, then mumbled and then fell, trembling and unconscious. When he woke he found himself in a strange building, still trembling from his visions. Then a priest walked to him and said ‘My king! It is such a relief to see you awake, your companions told us you were unwell so we sheltered you here in our temple. Please take all the time you need to recover, as you seem to be in great distress. When the king felt somewhat better he decided to tour around the temple. He was awed by the serenity and beauty he found, both inside the temple and around it. He then asked the priest: ‘Who built this marvellous temple?’ To which the priest replied: ‘no one truly knows my lord, this temple has stood for as long as anyone knows and countless priests like myself have inhabited it. It is ancient even in our most ancient records. Perplexed the king asked: ‘Then why has the temple not been ruined by bad successors?’ To which the priest replied: ‘The wisest priests hold power together, we make sure that when our ranks need new blood that they are wise and diligent.’ ‘But how have potential successors never torn these lands apart?’ the king inquired’ The priest chuckled a bit and said in a kind tone: ‘We do not let potential rulers fight like that, leadership is a duty to carry, not a privilege to hold. Of course, potential successors bicker, but only about who would be better to carry the burden. The king became impressed with what he heard but had one more problem: ‘But surely, there must have once been a leader that strayed from the path of virtue and ruined what was built?’ The priest, to the king’s astonishment, could answer this without hesitation: ‘It is true that even the wisest among us can come to forsake their duty and let their vices lead them. But even when this happens, the other leaders remain true and can prevent this corruption from spreading, making sure that the collective remains on the path of virtue. Suddenly the king knew the answer to his despair, energy ran through him like in his first days a king. In ecstasy he thanked the priest and promised that his wisdom would lead to a new age in the world. He returned to his companions and ordered them to return with him to his castle as quickly as possible. When he returned he ordered all his courtiers, generals, advisors and children to gather because he had an important announcement to make. When all had gathered he spoke these monumental words: ‘Throughout my life, I thought that I would bring unity and stability to this world. Throughout my life, I thought I was the king destined to fix this world. Throughout my travels, however, I discovered I was not the first who thought this. Many kings before thought they achieved this in their own way. But what remains of them today? Ruins! Ruins and stories that fill even the most hopeful souls with despair. I have learned that the achievement of kings cannot last, no matter how great. I despaired when I learned because I feared my achievements were doomed to disappear as well, leaving only ruins. But I found hope, hope for a better tomorrow, for true stability, for an opportunity to escape the oppression of ruins. The temples to Audeos and the priests that rule them never built great empires or won grand battles. But their lands know no ruins, their soil is not soiled with the blood of siblings and their halls are not tainted by the failings of individuals. That is why I have decided to discard my crown and bury my sceptre. I will hand over my kingdom to the devotees of Audeos, so that all the lands under the sun will know the stability which rules their temples. Some may think this decision foolish, but I implore you: if you ever trusted my judgement and if you ever respected my abilities, then please, head my words one last time.’ Over the following years, rulership of the kingdom was handed over to the temples. When all was done the Sorcerer-King gave up his power and spent the rest of his days in the temple which had enlightened him. And so, by letting go, the Sorcerer-king brought more good in the world than a hundred victories or a thousand solved problems or ten thousand wise verdicts ever could.